Two years ago, I decided that if I ever started to go deaf,
I would soundproof every room of my house.
That way, maybe I could manage to preserve a few minutes of ability
for exactly what I wanted to hear.
I have always tried to prolong the impossible.
So this summer, I’m going to keep a toothpick from every time I wished the forest was thicker.
I’m going to build a castle to scale with our imaginations,
convince myself that I can model the countryside, manage the light,
whisper mindless into your ears, as close as possible—
baby, when I found out she was moving,
I stood outside and tried to silence the sky,
tried to shut out my stomach,
cried in the grass.
I don’t know how to explain it any way other than that.